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Preface

Volume 1 of Music in Theory and Practice was a general introduction to music theory. You
To the Student
spent time mastering the details of music syntax and discovering how small patterns, such
as scales, intervals, and triads, combine to create larger units—phrases, periods, two-part
form, and three-part form. This volume focuses on musical styles from the Renaissance to
the present. It includes more complex chords, an emphasis on larger forms, and strategies
to help you analyze the compositions you perform.
The goal of this volume is the practical application of information. The analytical tech-
niques presented here are carefully designed to be clear, uncomplicated, and readily ap-
plicable to the repertoire you will develop during your career as a musician. The thorough
understanding of the musical structure of a composition that you gain through analysis
considerably reduces the time required for preparing a performance of that work.

The ninth edition of Music in Theory and Practice includes the following changes:
New to this Edition
1. The placement of musical examples has been revised to eliminate as many awkward
page turns and cross-references as possible.
2. “The Early Twentieth Century,” which appeared as a single chapter in the eighth edi-
tion, has been expanded into two chapters separating the explanation of compositional
devices from pitch-class set theory.
3. A series of pedagogical “practice” instructions have been added to guide students
through their initial efforts at understanding concepts.
4. Several new full-length compositions have been added to allow students additional
opportunity to study complete works rather than isolated sections of a composition.

This two-volume series is a part of a carefully integrated package. The following texts and
Texts and
ancillaries are available for the ninth edition:
Supplements
For students and instructors:
Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 1
Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 2
Workbook to Accompany Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 1
Workbook to Accompany Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 2
Online Learning Center at www.mhhe.com/mtp9

For instructors:
Instructor’s Manual to Accompany Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 1
Instructor’s Manual to Accompany Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 2
Workbook Solutions Manual to Accompany Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 1
Workbook Solutions Manual to Accompany Music in Theory and Practice, Volume 2
Online Learning Center at www.mhhe.com/mtp9

Resources available from the Online Learning Center include printable versions of the
Instructor’s Manuals and Workbook Solutions Manuals, assignment templates com-
patible with Finale® music notation software, supplementary drill assignments, testing
materials, and recordings. Audio examples posted online for this edition of Music in
Theory and Practice are identified throughout the texts and workbooks with the fol-
lowing graphic: .

vii
 It is with deep appreciation and sincere gratitude that I thank Chris Freitag for his numer-
Acknowledgments
ous important contributions to Music in Theory and Practice. His many years of work
on behalf of the text, along with his always wise and patient counsel, made a significant
impact that will never be forgotten.
The exemplary work of the McGraw-Hill professional staff deserves both recogni-
tion and commendation. The efforts of Sarah Remington, Erin Melloy, Barbara Hacha,
Jana Singer, Kay Munson, Yu Vongkiatkajorn, Laura Wilk, Craig Leonard, Dawn
Groundwater, and the entire production team are genuinely valued and appreciated.
Grateful acknowledgement is extended to the following individuals, whose suggestions,
comments, and reviews were extremely helpful:
Bill Carmody, Sierra College
James Chenevert, Texas Woman’s University
Robin Connell, Grand Rapids Community College
Jason Howard, Westminster College
Jack D. Jenny, Otterbein University
Mark Pappas, Eastern Michigan University
Denise Root Pierce, Eastern Michigan University
Lauren Shackelford, The Master’s College
I would be remiss not to acknowledge the life’s work of my brilliant mentor and kind-
hearted coauthor, Bruce Benward. Simply put, without Bruce Benward, there would be no
Music in Theory and Practice. His creative genius and enduring vision continues to be a
motivating force behind the text, and his timeless perspective remains part of the 9th edi-
tion. Dr. Benward’s significant contributions are respectfully acknowledged, along with the
promise that Music in Theory and Practice will forever be “The Benward.”

Marilyn Saker

viii Preface
PA R T A

The Renaissance and Baroque Periods

T
he term Renaissance refers to the era of the flowering of the arts and literature that
Renaissance Period
followed the Middle Ages. The overriding function of music in the Renaissance
(1450–1600) period was to contribute to worship. Although greatly overshadowed by the sacred
music of the period, secular works did exist and were an important part of the literature.
Vocal music was far more common than instrumental music during the Renaissance.
Choruses came into being shortly before the beginning of the Renaissance but did not
reach full flower until well into the era. Choruses of the time were usually small groups of
perhaps 12 to 15 singers. The choral group was often divided into four parts—the familiar
soprano, alto, tenor, and bass. Late Renaissance music often required a fifth part, either a
second soprano or a second tenor, and works for six, eight, and even 16-part choruses were
not unusual. Instrumental groups frequently accompanied choruses and usually doubled
the voice parts. In chapels, however, the groups sang a cappella, or unaccompanied.
As an introduction to the music of the late Renaissance, we will study two- and three-
part vocal polyphony, concentrating our attention on the works of Orlande de Lassus,
Josquin Desprez, Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina, and Tomás Luis de Victoria.

The baroque was a period of great change. Baroque composers preferred new tonality
Baroque Period
systems to the modality of the Renaissance. Their compositional style made it possible to
(1600–1750) hear the words of sung texts more easily. Instrumental music began to assume more impor-
tance than vocal music for the first time in history. Improvisation of music was a common
practice, particularly in the performance of accompaniments and in the performance of
opera singers, who were expected to improvise embellishments at certain points in their
arias. Much of the music of the baroque included a figured bass that served as a basis for
improvising accompaniments.
We will examine instrumental works of the baroque period in contrapuntal texture,
principally the two-part inventions and fugues of J. S. Bach.
This page intentionally left blank
CHAPTER 1

Late Renaissance Polyphony

Modes Musica Ficta Consonant 4th
Topics Dorian Mode Unaccented Passing Tone Hocket
Phrygian Mode Accented Passing Tone Clausula Vera
Lydian Mode Lower Neighboring Tone Plagal Cadence
Mixolydian Mode Suspensions Weak Interior Cadences
Aeolian Mode Portamento Text Setting
Ionian Mode Nota Cambiata Agogic Accent
Final Six-Five Figure Imitation

Late Renaissance polyphony refers to music from approximately 1550 to 1600. The po-
Important
lyphony of this period is perhaps the purest ever written because it is not influenced by the
Concepts functional harmony of later periods. Interacting melodic lines characterize the composi-
tional style of this period.

Sixteenth-century music is essentially modal. The Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, and Mix-
Modes
olydian modes were in common use. The Aeolian (natural minor scale) and Ionian (major
scale) modes were used occasionally. Each mode is identified by its beginning tone, called
the final.

Mode Piano White Keys Final

Dorian D to D D
Phrygian E to E E
Lydian F to F F
Mixolydian G to G G
Aeolian A to A A
Ionian C to C C

Musica Ficta Altered tones were frequently added to the pure modes. This practice became known as
musica ficta. Musica ficta accidentals were not written in the original manuscripts but were
sung by the performers according to performance practices of the period. In modern edi-
tions the musica ficta accidentals are often indicated above the staves. The melodic tritone
between F and B was avoided by lowering the B to B-flat (Figure 1.1).

3
 Figure 1.1

Lassus: Beatus homo (Happy Is the Man), mm. 24–26.

Tritone avoided by musica ficta

b
& 42 Ó ˙ ˙. œ ˙ ˙ w ˙
˙ ˙ œ œ
ne - go - ti - a - ti - o - ne ar - gen -

In the Dorian and Mixolydian modes, a “leading tone” was created at cadences by rais-
ing the seventh scale degree. The Phrygian and Lydian modes required no alteration at
cadence points (Figure 1.2).

Figure 1.2

Modes requiring raised 7th Modes requiring no alteration

Dorian Mixolydian Phrygian Lydian

w w w
Half step
w w
& # ww w
Half step

# ww ww w
Half step Half step
w w ww
# ww ww # ww w w ww ww w ww
Half step Half step Half step Half step

Transposed Modes The modes were often transposed a perfect fifth lower, creating a key signature of one flat
(Figure 1.3).

Figure 1.3

Natural modes Transposed modes

w w w w w
Dorian Transposed Dorian

& w w w w w w b w w w w
w
Half step Half step Half step Half step

w w w w w
w w
Phrygian Transposed Phrygian

& w w w w w w b w w w
Half step Half step Half step Half step

4 PART A The Renaissance and Baroque Periods

Natural modes Transposed modes

w w w
Lydian Transposed Lydian

& w w w w w b w w w w
w w w w
Half step Half step Half step Half step

w w w w
Mixolydian Transposed Mixolydian

& w w w w b w w w w w
w w w
Half step Half step Half step Half step

In late Renaissance polyphony, vertical structures were organized according to the conso-
Consonance
nant intervals above the lowest-sounding tone (Figure 1.4).

Figure 1.4

Consonant intervals in the sixteenth-century style

& ww w w w
w ww ww w ww w
P1 P8 P5 M3 M6 m3 m6

The lowest-sounding tone may not always be the lowest voice in the score because voice
crossing was quite common (Figure 1.5).

Figure 1.5

Palestrina: Missa Inviolata, Credo, mm. 14–15.

4
& b 2 ˙. œ ˙ ˙ w w
5 4 3 3 5 3 4

V b 42 ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ w ∑
4 3 2 1
˙ ˙ #˙ ˙. nœ
? 42 w Ó
b
4 3
= Lowest-sounding tone

The numbers between the staves in Figure 1.5 refer to the interval above the lowest-
sounding tone. This method of analysis is employed throughout this chapter.
The concept of tonal harmony was unknown during the Renaissance period. Compos-
ers thought only in terms of consonances and dissonances.

CHAPTER 1 Late Renaissance Polyphony 5

 Vertical dissonance was treated with considerable care. The dissonant intervals are: P4,
Dissonance
M2, m2, M7, m7, and all diminished and augmented intervals.

Dissonance Types in Passing tones, lower neighboring tones, suspensions, portamentos, and cambiatas are the
Two-Voice Writing only dissonances found in two-voice writing.

Unaccented Passing Tone

4
Unaccented passing tones in half notes are found on beats 2 and 4 in 2 meter, in quarter
notes on the second half of any beat, and in eighth notes in unstressed locations. Unac-
cented passing tones are used in ascending and descending directions (Figure 1.6).

Figure 1.6

Josquin Desprez: Missa “L’homme armé super voces musicales”

(Mass based on “The Armed Man”), Benedictus, mm. 26–27.

w w
& 42 w . ˙
PT PT PT
3 4 6 5 6 7 8 9

& 42 ∑ w ˙ ˙. œ œ œ

Accented Passing Tone

4
Accented passing tones in quarter notes occur only on beats 2 and 4 in 2 meter, and
only in a descending direction. Half-note accented passing tones were not allowed
(Figure 1.7).

Figure 1.7

? 42 ˙ œ œ ˙. œ
>
PT PT PT
8 7 5 3 2 1 2
? 42 ˙ . œ œ œ ˙

Lower Neighboring Tone

Lower neighboring tones occur in quarter notes in unstressed locations (Figure 1.8).

6 PART A The Renaissance and Baroque Periods

Figure 1.8

Josquin Desprez: Missa Da pacem, Credo, mm. 9–10.

V b 42 w Ó ˙ œ œ œ œ w
PT NT PT PT
5 5 4 3 2 3 4 5 6 7
? b 42 Ó ˙. œ œ bœ w. bœ œ

Suspensions
In two-voice writing, the only suspensions available are 7–6 and 2–3. The suspension oc-
4
curs on beats 1 or 3 in 2 meter and the resolutions on beats 2 or 4 (Figure 1.9).

Figure 1.9

Lassus: Beatus vir in sapientia (Blessed Is the Man), mm. 23–24.

& 42 ˙ w b˙ w ˙ ˙
(prep.) SUS (resol.) PT
6 5 3 2 3 3 5 4

& 42 Ó ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ
2–3 suspension

Decorated suspensions are common. The decorations usually consist of a portamento

(discussed in the following section) or with double eighth notes where the second eighth
note is a lower neighboring tone (Figure 1.10).

Figure 1.10

Lassus: Serve bone (Well Done), mm. 5–6.

Portamento Pair of eighth notes

& 42 œ ˙. œ ˙ œ #œ œ ˙ w
œ
PT (prep.) SUS (resol.) SUS (resol.)

?4 ˙
3 4
˙
6 7 6 6 7 6 5 6 8
2 w w Ó ˙

CHAPTER 1 Late Renaissance Polyphony 7

 Portamento
The portamento is a common device of the late Renaissance that resembles the anticipa-
tion found in later periods. The portamento figure consists of three notes—often a dotted
half note (or a half note tied to a quarter note), a quarter note, and a half or quarter note.
The portamento tone is the second of the three (Figure 1.11).

Figure 1.11

Portamento figure as suspension decoration

Portamento figure

˙ œ œ ˙ ˙
& ˙ ˙
PORT
con. dis. con.
3 6 7 6 6 5 3 6
& ˙ ˙ ˙. œ w

œ œ
Dissonant portamento

˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ
&
PORT
3 3 4 3 4 6 7 3 8

& ˙ œ œ ˙ ˙ ˙
Portamento figure

Nota Cambiata
A forerunner of the eighteenth-century changing tones, the nota cambiata is a four-note
melodic figure. The second note of the four is the nota cambiata itself. The first and third
notes are always consonant with the lowest-sounding tone, whereas the second and fourth
may or may not be dissonant (Figure 1.12).

Figure 1.12

Cambiata figure
˙.
& 42 œ ˙ #˙ ›
2nd 3rd 2nd
NC
5 4 3 6 8
& 42 w ˙ ˙ ›

8 PART A The Renaissance and Baroque Periods

Dissonance Types in Suspensions
Three or More Voices
In polyphony with three or more voices, the 9–8 (2–1) and 4–3 suspensions occur, as well
as the 7–6 and 2–3 suspensions described on page 7 (Figure 1.13).

Figure 1.13

Palestrina: Missa Inviolata, Credo, mm. 20–21.

9 – 8 and 4 –3 suspensions

& b 42 ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ œ œ w ˙
PT SUS SUS
5 8 9 10 10 9 8 10 4 3

V b 42 w ˙. œ ˙ œ œ w
>
PT PT PT

? b 42 ˙ .
3 4 5 6 d5 3 4 3 5
œ ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w

The Six–Five Figure

Occasionally one voice will sing a 5th above the lowest-sounding tone at the same time that
another voice sings a 6th. Although both of these intervals are consonances, a dissonance
occurs between them that requires resolution. The 5th resolves downward as a suspension,
whereas the lowest-sounding voice moves upward, creating a 3rd (Figure 1.14).

Figure 1.14

Palestrina: Missa Jam Christus astra

ascenderat, Credo, m. 24.

4 w
&b 2 w
5 6 6 5

& b 42 œ œ w ˙
PT
˙ 3 4 6
˙ ˙5 ˙3
V b 42
The 6 –5 figure

CHAPTER 1 Late Renaissance Polyphony 9

 The Consonant 4th
The 4th is normally considered to be a dissonance, but at cadence points a figure similar
to the cadential six-four chord in tonal music sometimes occurs. The 4th in this case is
considered to be consonant (Figure 1.15).

Figure 1.15

Victoria: Magnificat Septimi Toni: De posuit potentes, mm. 11–12.

& 42 w w Ó
w ˙
6 (6) 5 1 5 5

& 42 ˙ w #˙ w
Ó
SUS ˙
? 42 ›
3 4 (4) 3 1
∑ w

The consonant 4th

The melodic lines in sixteenth-century choral music have the following characteristics:
Melody
1. Melodic movement is predominantly stepwise.
2. Although skips occur, the following intervals are avoided:
Ascending M6ths
All descending 6ths
All 7ths
All diminished and augmented intervals
Skips greater than an octave
3. Triads are sometimes outlined in the melody.
4. Two or more successive skips in the same direction (other than skips that outline a triad)
are rare.
5. A skip greater than a 3rd is preceded and followed by an interval that is in the opposite
direction to the skip and most often stepwise. For example, the approach to, and depar-
ture from, an ascending skip is by a descending interval (usually a step) (Figure 1.16).

Figure 1.16

Step down Skip up Step down

& 42 ˙ . œ ˙ ˙ ˙ #˙ w

6. Melodic sequences, so common in the eighteenth century, are infrequent in this style.

The two common meters in late Renaissance polyphony were quadruple meter and triple
Rhythm and Meter
meter. This chapter deals only with quadruple meter. The rhythms in quadruple meter were
limited to the following note values:

10 PART A The Renaissance and Baroque Periods

 Breve (double whole note)
Half note
Dotted half note
Eighth note (used sparingly and in pairs)
Whole note
Dotted whole note
Quarter note

1. Note values were tied only to a succeeding note of equal or next shorter value
(Figure 1.17).

Figure 1.17

Equal values tied

˙.
& 42
w ˙ ˙ ˙ œ ˙

Note tied to next shorter value

4 ˙ œ œ œ œ ˙
&2 w ˙ ˙

Unstylistic Unstylistic

& 42 ˙ . œ ˙ ˙ & 42 w œ œ œ œ

2. Quarter rests were not used at all, and half rests are found only on beats 1 and 3
(Figure 1.18).

Figure 1.18

Unstylistic Unstylistic

& 42 Œ œ œ œ w & 42 ˙ Ó ˙ ˙
Quarter rests not found Half rests on beats 1 and 3 only

3. Eighth notes occur only on the second half of a beat and always in pairs (Figure 1.19).

Figure 1.19

Unstylistic
4
&2 ˙ ˙ œ œ œ ˙
Eighth notes not found on
accented portion of the beat

CHAPTER 1 Late Renaissance Polyphony 11

 4. Compositions generally begin with a note of at least a dotted half-note value. More often
the beginning note is a whole note or breve.
5. The final note is at least a whole-note value and most often a breve.
6. There was considerable rhythmic variety in late Renaissance polyphony. Two simulta-
neous voices never have the same rhythm, and rhythmic figures were not repeated in
successive measures (Figure 1.20).

Figure 1.20

Unstylistic Unstylistic
Rhythm Rhythm repeated

& 42 ˙ . œ ˙ œ œ & 42 ˙ . œ ˙ œ œ ˙. œ ˙ œ œ

& 42 . œ ˙ œ œ & 42 w w ˙ w ˙
˙
Same rhythm as upper voice

7. To keep the rhythmic flow from being interrupted at interior cadence points, one voice
usually rests and then begins the next phrase immediately. This staggering of rests is
referred to as hocket (Figure 1.21).

Figure 1.21

Lassus: Beatus homo (Happy Is the Man), mm. 23–24.

Cadence
Hocket

& 42 w w Ó ˙ ˙. œ
- - - jus ne - go - ti
2 3 3 2 3 4 3 3 3 3
4 Ó
& 2 œ œ ˙. œ œ ˙ w ˙
- - - - - - jus ne -

Overlapping phrases

8. Original manuscripts of the period did not contain bar lines. However, for the sake of
twentieth-century musicians, most modern editions include bar lines.
9. The rhythms in individual voices sometimes suggest meters other than the meter
signature. Most modern editions place the bar lines according to the prevailing meter,
regardless of the meter suggested in individual voices, to avoid notational complexity
(Figure 1.22).

12 PART A The Renaissance and Baroque Periods

 Figure 1.22

As written: Group of 3 Group of 3 Group of 3 Group of 4

& 42 Ó w ˙ w ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ w #w ∑
Con - so - la - trix af - fli - cto - rum

Rewritten to show rhythmic groupings more clearly

& 32 w ˙ w ˙ w ˙ 42 w #w
Con - so - la - trix af - fli - cto - rum

Most final cadences in two-voice writing are of the clausula vera type, in which the two
Cadences
voices approach an octave or unison through stepwise motion (Figure 1.23).
Clausula Vera
Figure 1.23

Lassus: Beatus homo (Happy Is the Man), mm. 34–35.

Clausula vera cadence

& 42 œ œ w #˙ ›
>
PT SUS
7 8 7 6 8
& 42 ˙
5 3

œ œ ˙ ˙ ›
Expands out to octave

In three-voice writing the third voice often adds falling 5th motion to the clausula vera,
creating a cadence similar to the authentic cadence in tonal music (Figure 1.24).

Figure 1.24

Palestrina: Magnificat Secundi Toni: Deposuit potentes, mm. 27–28.

& b 42 œ œ w #˙ ›
Clausula vera
4
Vb 2 w w ›

? b 42 b w w ›
Decending 5th in the bass

CHAPTER 1 Late Renaissance Polyphony 13

Plagal Cadence A plagal cadence is occasionally found at interior cadence points. In a two-voice plagal
cadence, the lower voice moves up a P5th or down a P4th (Figure 1.25).

Figure 1.25

Plagal cadences

w w w w w w
&

& w w w w
w w
Ascending P5 Ascending P5 Descending P4

Weak Interior Pauses often occur in individual melodic lines in compositions of this period. These mo-
Cadences mentary breaks in rhythmic activity sometimes have the effect of cadences (Figure 1.26).

Figure 1.26

Lassus: Qui vult venire post me (He Who Would Follow Me), mm. 3–5.

V b 42 Ó ˙ w w w w Ó ˙
ve - ni - re post me, ve -

? b 42 w w w w Ó ˙ w
ni - re post me, ve - ni -
Weak interior cadence

As in eighteenth-century style, parallel P8ths, P5ths, and P1s were prohibited during this
Parallel Motion
period (Figure 1.27).

Figure 1.27

V b 42 w Ó ˙ ˙ ˙
˙. œ œ œ w ˙ ›
>
SUS PT PT SUS
2 3 1 5 5 3 8 7 6 6 6 7 8 7 6 8
? 4 ˙ ˙ w
b 2 ˙ w ˙ œ œ œ œ œ ˙. œ ›
Parallel P5ths
avoided in this style

14 PART A The Renaissance and Baroque Periods

 Parallel M3rds, m3rds, M6ths, and m6th intervals were common, though these were
usually limited to four or five notes in succession (Figure 1.28).

Figure 1.28

& b 42 w ˙ ˙ œ œ œ œ ˙ ˙
PT PT
3 4 5 6 3 5 4 3 3 3 3 5 6 3

& b 42 œ œ œ œ ˙ . œ œ œ œ œ œ
œ ˙
Parallel 3rds integral
part of this style

In late Renaissance polyphony there were a number of conventions for the setting of texts,
Text Setting
including the following:

1. Syllables are assigned only to half-note (or larger) values. A single quarter note may
carry a syllable only when preceded by a dotted half note and followed by a half or
whole note.
2. After a series of quarter notes, a syllable is not changed until after a white note value
occurs (Figure 1.29).

Figure 1.29

Palestrina: Alleluja tulerunt (Hallelujah, They Had Borne), mm. 1–3.

1st white note 2nd white note

w.
& 42 ˙ ˙ œ œ w ˙.
Al - le - lu - - - ja

Syllable changes on
2nd white note

3. The rhythms follow the accents of the words quite closely. Accented syllables are often
given agogic (durational) stress (Figure 1.30).

Figure 1.30

Palestrina: Alleluja tulerunt (Hallelujah, They Had Borne), mm. 1–3.

w.
& 42 ˙ ˙ œ œ w ˙.
Al - le - lu - - - ja

Accented syllable is given longer duration

(Agogic accent)

CHAPTER 1 Late Renaissance Polyphony 15


Form
History
Josquin Desprez
(ca. 1440–1521)
Giovanni Pierluigi
da Palestrina
(ca. 1525–1594)
Orlande de Lassus
(ca. 1530–1594)
Tomás Luis de Victoria
(1548–1611)
16 PART A The Renaissance and Baroque Periods
Late Renaissance vocal compositions have a formal design that parallels the text.
1. Each phrase of text is considered a section and is set musically so that a cadence or at
least a pause will occur at the end of the line.
2. Each section of music begins with imitation that is usually abandoned before the end of
the section.
3. After each interior cadence a new imitation begins.
The four composers—Josquin Desprez (ca.1440–1521), Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina
(ca. 1525–1594), Orlande de Lassus (ca. 1530–1594), and Tomás Luis de Victoria (1548–
1611)—whose music is presented in the examples in this chapter, are the best-known com-
posers of sacred music in the Renaissance. The works of these composers are remarkable
for their stylistic consistency and musical value. They continue to appear in concerts of
choral music today.
Josquin Desprez was born in the north of France, performed as a singer in the papal chapel
choir in Rome, and returned to France to serve in the court of Louis XII. He perfected the
technique of pervasive imitation (imitation at the beginning of each section) during his stay
in Rome. His works were known throughout Europe and influenced many later composers,
including Palestrina, Lassus, and Victoria. In addition to sacred music, Josquin composed
a number of secular chansons.
Born in Palestrina, Italy, Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina became the master of the chapel
choir in several of Rome’s greatest churches. His reputation as a composer of sacred music
was so great that he was asked to rewrite the church’s plainchant books to bring them in
line with the reforms instituted by the Council of Trent. (The Council of Trent required
that the text of the Mass always be understandable by a congregation.) In the twentieth
century, Palestrina’s music has been studied extensively. The stylistic norms described in
this chapter are based on Knud Jeppesen’s monumental work The Style of Palestrina and
the Dissonance.
Orlande de Lassus was a Franco-Flemish composer who also learned his craft as a com-
poser in the churches in Rome. Returning to his native Mons (now a part of Belgium), he
began publishing works that became known throughout Europe. In 1556 he joined the
court of Duke Albrecht V of Bavaria, where he spent the remainder of his life. In addition
to sacred music, Lassus composed more than four hundred secular works, including madri-
gals, villanellas, chansons, and lieder.
Born in Avila, Spain, where he became a choirboy at the Avila Cathedral, Tomás Luis de
Victoria moved to Rome in 1565 and studied composition with Palestrina. Victoria became
a priest and returned to Spain as chaplain to Philip II’s sister in Madrid, where he spent
the remainder of his life. He is considered to be the greatest Spanish composer of the Re-
naissance. Victoria composed only sacred music and is known for dramatic and emotional
interpretation of the texts.
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the place and see if there's anything worth noting.”
They carried the remains of Peter Hay into the cottage and laid
the body on the bed, which had not been slept in.
“You'd better examine him, inspector,” Sir Clinton suggested.
As the inspector set to work, the chief constable invited his
companions to come into the second room of the cottage; and he left
the bedroom door open, so that the inspector could hear anything of
interest while he made his examination.
To Wendover, the tiny room seemed to offer little of interest. It
was obviously kitchen and living-room in one. An oil cooking-stove; a
grate; a sink; a dresser; two chairs and a table—these made up the
more obvious contents. His eye wandered upwards and was caught
by the movement of a tame squirrel in its cage on one of the walls.
“I heard he kept some pets,” he remarked to the constable who
had gone across to inspect the squirrel with a rather gloomy
expression on his face.
“Yes, sir,” Sapcote answered. “He took a lot of pleasure in the
beasts. Some of them are in cages out behind the cottage.”
He reflected for a moment, then added:
“Somebody'll have to look after the poor beasts, now he's gone.
Would there be any objection to my taking them away, sir? They'll
have to be fed.”
Sir Clinton, to whom the question was obviously addressed, gave
permission at once.
“We mustn't let the beasts starve. You'll have to take the cages
too, of course?”
“Yes, sir. I can put them in my backyard at home.”
The constable paused for a moment, then, a little shamefacedly,
he added:
“Peter was a good friend to me; and I wouldn't like to see his pets
fall into anybody's hands that might be cruel to them or neglect them.
He was real fond of them.”
Wendover's eye fell upon a small white paper bag on one of the
dresser shelves. He stepped across, opened the parcel, sniffed for a
moment, and then handed the thing to Sir Clinton.
“Here's where the perfume comes from, Clinton—a bag of pear-
drops, just as the constable said. He must have been eating some
just before he died.”
The chief constable looked at the crumbled paper.
“Not much chance of getting any fingerprints on that, even if we
wanted them. You'd better hand the bag over to the inspector. We
may as well get them analysed. Poison's always a possibility——
Ah, inspector, you haven't been long over that.”
Inspector Armadale emerged from the bedroom and stolidly
made his report.
“Nothing that I can see on the body, sir, except the marks we
noted already. No wounds of any sort, no bruises—nothing
suspicious whatever. It almost looks like a mare's nest, except for
these four marks.”
Sir Clinton nodded as though he had received confirmation of
some very doubtful hypothesis. He moved across the room and
seemed to become engrossed in a study of the squirrel's antics. In a
few moments he turned to the constable.
“You knew Peter Hay well, constable. I want some notions about
his habits and so forth. What did he do with himself all day?”
The constable scratched his ear, as though to stimulate his
memory by the action.
“To tell you the truth, sir, he didn't do much. He was only
caretaker here, you understand? When the weather was fine, he'd
go up to Foxhills and open some of the windows in the morning, to
air the rooms. Then he'd take a look round the grounds, likely, just to
see that all was as it should be. He might have to go down to the
village for tea, or butter, or something like that. Then he'd come
home and take his dinner. In the afternoon he'd have a bit of a sleep
for a while—he was getting on in years—and then perhaps he'd dig
a while in his garden here; look after his flowers; then he'd have his
tea. Some time or other, he'd go up and look round Foxhills again
and shut any windows he'd opened. And then he'd come back here;
water his garden, most likely, if it needed it. And perhaps some of us
would drop in for a chat with him. Or else he might take a walk down
to see me or somebody else in the village. Or sometimes he'd read.”
Sir Clinton threw a glance round the barely furnished room.
“He had books, then? I don't see any.”
“He read his Bible, sir. I never saw him read anything else.”
 “There's a Bible in the bedroom, Sir Clinton,” Armadale
confirmed.
“An uneventful life, apparently,” the chief constable commented,
not unkindly. “Now I want to hear something about what sort of man
he was. Polite in his manners, you said?”
“Very polite,” Sapcote insisted. “I remembered hearing some
visitor once saying that Peter was a natural gentleman, sir.”
“They do exist, here and there, even nowadays,” Sir Clinton
admitted. “Now let's come down to dots, constable. I want to get a
picture of him in my mind and you seem to have known him well
enough to help. Let's see, now. Suppose I'd met him somewhere and
offered to come and see him—or that he'd asked me here. What
would happen? I suppose I'd knock at the door and he'd come and
let me in. Which chair would he give me?”
“Whichever you liked best, sir. They're much the same. If there'd
been any difference he'd have given you the best one.”
“Quite so. I'm beginning to see him better. Now go on, constable.
He'd have been easy and natural, too, if I can gauge him. He'd just
have met me in his shirt-sleeves as he used to meet you? No fuss?”
“He'd have made no fuss, sir. But he'd have put on his jacket for
you, you being a strange gentleman coming to his house on a
special visit; and perhaps he'd have offered you a cup of tea if the
time was right for it.”
“And if it was later in the evening? Some whiskey, if he had any?”
“No, sir. Peter was a strong teetotaller.”
Sir Clinton glanced over the dresser on which all the dishes were
neatly stacked.
“He was a tidy man, I see?”
“Very, sir. Always had everything ship-shape. He never could
bear to have things lying about. Sometimes he used to anger me
because he'd wash up his tea-things when I wanted to talk to him. Of
course, if it had been you, I expect he'd wait till you'd gone. It
wouldn't have been polite to wash up with a stranger there.”
“You're helping me a great deal, constable,” said Sir Clinton
encouragingly. “Now, another thing. I suppose he must have saved
some money. He seems to have lived very simply—no expenses to
speak of?”
 “That's right, sir. He put all he could spare into the savings-bank
at the post office. All he kept in the house was what he needed to
buy things in the village.”
“So I expected. You see how well you've pictured him, constable.
Now where did he keep his money—his loose cash?”
“In that drawer in the dresser,” the constable said, pointing to one
of the larger drawers which had a lock on it. “He carried the key
about with him.”
“See if you can get the key, inspector, please. You'll find it in his
pocket, I expect.”
Armadale produced the key almost at once, and Sir Clinton
opened the drawer. As he did so, the constable uttered a cry of
astonishment. Wendover, leaning forward, saw that the drawer held
more than a little money—some silver articles were in it as well.
Sir Clinton warned them back with a gesture.
“Don't touch. We may have to look for fingerprints here. These
things seem to have a crest on them,” he continued, after
scrutinising them.
“That's the Foxhills' mark, sir,” the constable hastened to explain.
“But it beats me what Peter Hay was doing with these things. That
one there”—he pointed it out—“comes from the Foxhills' drawing-
room. I remember seeing it, one time Peter and I went round the
house when he was shutting the windows for the night. It's valuable,
isn't it, sir? Peter told me these things were worth something—quite
apart from the silver in them—and I suppose he'd learned that from
somebody or other—one of the family, most like.”
Sir Clinton left the silver articles alone and picked up the money
which lay in one corner of the drawer.
“One pound seven and four pence ha'penny. Would that be more
or less what you'd expect to see here, constable?”
“Somewhere round about that, sir, seeing it's this time in the
week.”
Sir Clinton idly picked up the savings-bank book, looked at the
total of the balance, and put the book down again. Evidently it
suggested nothing in particular.
“I think you'd better take charge of these ornaments, inspector,
and see if you can make anything out of them in the way of
fingerprints. Handle them carefully. Wait a moment! I want to have a
look at them.”
The inspector moved forward.
“I may be short of chalk, sir, but I've a pair of rubber gloves in my
pocket,” he announced with an air of suppressed triumph. “I'll lift the
things out on to the table for you, and you can look at them there.”
Slipping on his gloves, he picked up the articles gingerly and
carried them across to the table. Sir Clinton followed and, bending
over them, subjected them to a very careful scrutiny.
“See anything there?” he demanded, giving way at last to the
inspector.
After Armadale had examined the silver surfaces from every
direction, Wendover had his turn. When he raised himself again, he
shook his head. Sir Clinton glanced at the inspector, who also made
a negative gesture.
“Then we all see the same,” Sir Clinton said finally. “One might
assume from that, without overstraining probability, one thing at
least.”
“And that is?” demanded Wendover, forestalling the inspector.
“That there's nothing there to see,” Sir Clinton observed mildly. “I
thought you'd have noticed that for yourself, squire.”
Behind Wendover's back the inspector enjoyed his discomfiture,
thanking providence the while that he had not had time to put the
question himself. The chief constable turned to Sapcote.
“I suppose Peter Hay kept the keys of Foxhills—those that he
needed, at any rate—somewhere handy?”
“He kept them in his pocket, always, sir; a small bunch of Yale
keys on a ring, I remember.”
“You might get them, inspector, I think we'd better go up there
next and see if we can find anything worth noting. But, of course, we
can't go rushing in there without permission.”
He turned back to Sapcote:
“Go off now, constable, as soon as we've locked up this place,
and get hold of some of the Foxhills people who are staying at the
hotel. Ask them to come up here. Tell them we want to go over
Foxhills on account of something that's been taken from the house.
Explain about things, but don't make a long yarn of it, remember.
Then leave a message for Dr. Rafford to say that we'll probably need
a P. M. When you come up here again, you'd better bring a cart to
take away these beasts in their cages.”
He gave Sapcote some further instructions about the disposal of
Peter Hay's body, then he turned to the inspector.
“I suppose, later on, you'd better take Peter Hay's fingerprints. It's
only a precaution, for I don't think we'll need them; but we may as
well have them on record. There's nothing more for us to do here at
present so far as I can see.”
He led the way out of the cottage. The constable locked the door,
pocketed the key, produced a bicycle from behind the house, and
cycled off in haste down the avenue.
Sir Clinton led his companions round to the back of the cottage;
but an inspection of the dead man's menagerie yielded nothing
which interested any of them, so far as the matter in hand was
concerned.
“Let's sit down on the seat here,” the chief constable suggested,
as they returned to the front garden. “We'll have to wait for these
people from the hotel; and it won't do any harm to put together the
facts we've got, before we pick up anything further.”
“You're sure it isn't a mare's nest then?” Armadale inquired
cautiously.
“I'm surprised that Dr. Rafford didn't go a bit further with his
ideas,” Sir Clinton returned indifferently. “In any case, there's the
matter of that Foxhills' silver to be cleared up now.”
 Chapter IV.
What Happened in the Night
Sir Clinton took out his cigarette-case and handed it to his
companions in turn.
“Let's have the unofficial view first,” he suggested. “What do you
make of it all, squire, in the light of the classics?”
Wendover shook his head deprecatingly.
“It's hardly fair to start with the amateur, Clinton. According to the
classical method, the police always begin; and then, when they've
failed ingloriously, the amateur steps in and clears the matter up
satisfactorily. You're inverting the order of Nature. However, I don't
mind telling you what I think are the indisputable points in the affair.”
“The very things we want, squire,” declared Sir Clinton gratefully.
“Indisputable points will be no end of use to us if the case gets into
court. Proceed.”
“Well, to begin with, I think these marks on his wrists and round
about his ankles show that he was tied up last night. The wrist-marks
are deeper than the marks on the shins; and that's more or less what
one would expect. The ligatures would rest on the bare flesh in the
case of the wrists; but at the ankles the cloth of his trousers and his
socks would interpose and make the pressure less direct.”
Inspector Armadale nodded approvingly, as though his opinion of
Wendover had risen a little.
“Suppose that's correct, then,” Wendover continued, “it gives the
notion of someone attacking Peter Hay and tying him up. But then
Peter Hay wasn't a normal person. He suffered from high blood-
pressure, the doctor told us; and he'd had one or two slight strokes.
In other words, he was liable to congestion of the brain if he over-
exerted himself. Suppose he struggled hard, then he might quite well
bring on an attack; and then his assailant would have a corpse on
his hands without meaning to kill him at all.”
Armadale nodded once more, as though agreeing to this series of
inferences.
“If the assailant had left the body tied up, then the show would
have been given away,” Wendover proceeded, “so he untied the
bonds, carried the corpse — outside, and arranged it to look as if
death had been caused by a heart attack.”
He paused, and Sir Clinton put a question.
“Is that absolutely all, squire? What about the silver in the drawer,
for instance.”
Wendover made a vague gesture.
“I see nothing to connect the silver with this affair. The assailant
may have been after it, of course, and got so frightened by the turn
things took that he simply cleared out without waiting for anything. If
I'd gone to a place merely to rob a man, I don't think I'd wait to rob
him if I saw a chance of being had up on a murder charge. I'd clear
out while I was sure I was safe from discovery.”
“Nothing further, then? In that case, inspector, it's your turn to
contribute to the pool.”
Armadale had intended to confine himself strictly to the evidence
and to put forward no theories; but the chance of improving on the
amateur's results proved too much of a temptation, as Sir Clinton
had anticipated.
“There's not much doubt that he was tied up,” the inspector
began. “The marks all point that way. But there was one thing that
Mr. Wendover didn't account for in them. The marks on the legs were
on the front only—there wasn't a mark on the back of the legs.”
He halted for a moment and glanced at Wendover with subdued
triumph.
“So you infer?” Sir Clinton inquired.
“I think he was tied up to something so that his legs were resting
against it at the back and the bands were round the legs and the
thing too. If it was that way, then the back of the legs wouldn't have
any marks of the band on them.”
“Then what was he tied up to?” asked Wendover.
 “One of the chairs inside the cottage,” the inspector went on. “If
he'd been sitting in the chair, with each leg tied to a leg of the chair,
you'd get just what we saw on the skin.”
Sir Clinton acquiesced with a nod.
“Anything more?” he asked.
“I'm not quite through,” Armadale continued. “Assume he was
tied up as I've explained. If it had been a one-man job, there would
have been some signs of a struggle—marks on his wrists or
something of that sort. Peter Hay seems to have been a fairly
muscular person, quite strong enough to put up some sort of show if
he got a chance; certainly he'd have given one man enough trouble
to leave some marks on his own skin.”
“More than one man, then?” Sir Clinton suggested.
“Two, at least. Suppose one of them held him in talk while the
other took him by surprise, and you get over the difficulty of there
being no struggle. One man would pounce on him and then the other
would join in; and they'd have him tied up before he could put up any
fight that would leave marks on him.”
“That sounds all right,” Wendover admitted.
Sir Clinton put an innocent question.
“If it had been a one-man affair and a big struggle, then surely
Peter Hay would have had his attack while the fight was going on,
and if he'd died during the struggle there would have been no need
to tie him up? Isn't that so, squire?”
Wendover considered the point and grudgingly agreed that it
sounded probable.
“Go on, inspector,” Sir Clinton ordered, without taking up the side-
issue any further.
“I can't quite see what they did when they'd got him tied up,” the
inspector acknowledged. “They don't seem to have done much in the
way of rummaging in the cottage, as far as I can see. Whatever it
was that they were after, it wasn't the cash in the drawer; and it
wasn't the two or three bits of silver, for they left them intact,
although they could easily have got them if they'd wanted them. That
part of the thing beats me just now.”
Wendover showed a faint satisfaction at finding the inspector
driven to admit a hiatus in his story.
 “However it happened, Peter Hay died in his chair, I think,”
Armadale went on. “Perhaps it was the excitement of the affair.
Anyhow, they had a dead man on their hands. So, as Mr. Wendover
pointed out, they did their best to cover their tracks. They untied him,
carried him outside, laid him down as if he'd fallen unconscious and
died there. But they forgot one thing. If he'd come down all of a
heap, as they wanted to suggest, his face would have been
smashed a bit on the stones of the path. They arranged him with his
hands above his head, as if he'd fallen at full length. In that position,
he couldn't shield his face as he fell. Normally you fall with your
hands somewhere between your face and your chest—under your
body, anyhow. But his hands were above his head; and yet his face
hadn't a bruise on it. That's not natural.”
“Quite clear, inspector.”
“Then there's another point. You called my attention to the
moisture on the front of his clothes, under the body. Dew couldn't
have got in there.”
“Precisely,” Sir Clinton agreed. “That dates the time when they
put the body down, you think?”
“It shows it was put down on top of the dew, therefore it was after
dew-fall when they brought him out. And at the other side you've got
the fact that his bed wasn't slept in. So that limits the time of the
affair to a period between dew-fall and Peter Hay's normal bed-time.”
“Unless he'd sat up specially late that night,” Wendover
interposed.
Armadale nodded a rather curt acknowledgment of this
suggestion, and continued:
“Two points more. They've just occurred to me, sir. The silver's
the first thing.”
“Yes,” Sir Clinton encouraged him, since the inspector seemed to
feel himself on doubtful ground.
“I'm not sure, sir, that robbery can be ruled out, after all. It may be
a case of one crime following on another. Suppose Peter Hay had
been using his position as caretaker to get away with any silver left
at Foxhills, and had got it stored up here for removal at a convenient
time. The men who did him in last night might quite well have nailed
the main bulk of it and overlooked those stray bits that he'd put away
in his cash-drawer. For all we can tell, they may have made a good
haul.”
“And the next point, inspector?”
“The next point's the marks on the skin. They weren't made by
ropes. Well, you can tie a man up with other things—strips of cloth,
handkerchiefs, or surgical bandages. The edge of a surgical
bandage would leave a sharp line on the flesh if it was pulled tight
enough, or if the man struggled against it once he'd been tied in the
chair. You understand what I mean?”
Wendover interposed:
“You mean a rope leaves its mark mainly at the middle, because
it's a cylinder and the convex curve cuts into the flesh; whereas a flat
bandage gives even pressure all over except at the edge, where the
flesh can bulge up alongside the fabric?”
“That's what I mean,” the inspector confirmed.
Sir Clinton volunteered no immediate criticism of either of the
inspector's points. Instead, he seemed to be considering his course
of action. At last he made up his mind.
“We've got a bit away from our original agreement, inspector. But,
since you've put your cards on the table, I'll do the same, so that
we're still level. But you're not to take this as a precedent, remember.
I don't care about expounding airy theories formed as we go along.
It's much better to go on the old lines and consider the evidence as
we pick it up, each of us from his own point of view. Pooling our
views simply means losing the advantage of three different
viewpoints. You and Mr. Wendover came to slightly different
conclusions about the basic factor in the business; and, if you hadn't
put your ideas into words, then he'd have gone forward looking for
one criminal, whilst you'd have been after two or more men; and so
we'd have had both possibilities covered. Now, I think, the chances
are that you've come round to the inspector's view, squire?”
“It seems to fit the facts better than mine,” Wendover admitted.
“There you are!” Sir Clinton said. “And so we've lost the services
of one man keeping his eye on the—always possible—case that it
was a single-handed job. That's why I don't like pooling ideas.
However, inspector, it wouldn't be fair to take your views and to say
nothing about my own, so I'll give you mine. But it's no precedent,
remember.”
Armadale made a gesture of grudging agreement.
“Then here's what I make of things, so far,” Sir Clinton continued.
“First of all, one at least of the men mixed up in this affair was a
better-class fellow. And he, at any rate, did not come on Peter Hay
unexpectedly. He was paying a friendly call, and Peter knew he was
coming.”
“How do you make that out?” Wendover demanded.
“Easy enough. Hasn't the body a jacket on? I knew that when the
doctor told us he had to push up the sleeves to see the marks; and,
of course, when we saw the body, there was the coat, right enough.
Now men of Peter Hay's class don't wear jackets as much as we do.
They like to feel easy when they sit down after work's done—take off
their collars and ties and so forth in the evening. The question was,
whether Peter Hay varied from type. Hence my talk with the
constable, inspector. I saw your disapproving eye on me all through
it; but out of it I raked the plain fact that Peter Hay would never have
had a jacket on unless he expected a visitor—and, what's more, a
visitor of a class higher than his own. See it now?”
“There might be something in it,” the inspector conceded
reluctantly.
Sir Clinton showed no particular sign of elation, but went on with
his survey.
“The next point that struck me—I called your attention to it—was
the nature of the marks: the sharp edge. There's no doubt in my
mind that some strip of cloth was used in tying him up. Now, one
doesn't find strips of cloth on the spur of the moment. A handkerchief
would answer the purpose; but here you had each leg tied to the
chair and a fetter on the wrists as well. Unless there were three
people in the attack, they'd only be able to rake up two
handkerchiefs on the spur of the moment, since most people
normally content themselves with a handkerchief apiece. Strips torn
off a bed-sheet might answer; but I can't quite see Peter Hay
standing idly by while they tore up his sheets in order to tie him up
later on. Besides, his bedclothes were intact, so far as I could see—
and he doesn't use sheets.”
 “I see what you're driving at, Clinton,” Wendover interrupted. “You
want to make out that it was a premeditated affair. They brought the
apparatus in their pockets ready for use, and didn't tie the old man
up on the spur of the moment with the first thing that came handy?”
“Things seem to point that way, don't they?” Sir Clinton
continued. “Then there's the question of how it was done. I agree
with you, inspector, that it was a job for more than one man. Quite
evidently they had force enough to pin Peter Hay almost
instantaneously, so that he hadn't a chance of struggling; and it
would take two men—and fairly powerful fellows—to do that
successfully. Also, if there were two of them, one could hold him in
talk whilst the other sauntered round—perhaps to look at the squirrel
—and got into position to take him unawares from the rear.”
Armadale's face showed a certain satisfaction at finding the chief
constable in agreement with him on his point.
“Now we'll assume that they had him overpowered. If it was a
case of simple robbery, the easiest thing to do would be to tie his
hands together and fetter his ankles, and then leave him on the floor
while they looted the place. But they tied him in a chair—which isn't
so easy to do, after all. They must have had some reason for that, or
they wouldn't have gone to the extra trouble.”
“Even if you tie a man's hands and feet, he can always roll over
and over and make himself a nuisance,” the inspector suggested. “If
you tie him in a chair you have him fast.”
“Quite true,” Sir Clinton admitted. “But would you go to the extra
trouble yourself, inspector, if the case happened to be as I've stated
it? No? Neither should I. It seems as if there might be a likelier
solution. Ever visit a sick friend?”
“Yes,” said Armadale, obviously puzzled by the question.
“Did you ever notice, then, that it's easier to talk to him if he's
sitting up in bed and not lying down?”
“There's something in that,” the inspector admitted. “I've never
paid any attention to it; but, now you mention it, sir, I believe you're
right. One gets more out of a talk with a man when he's not lying
down in bed. I suppose one's unaccustomed to it.”
“Or else that when he's sitting up you can follow the play of
expression on his face,” Sir Clinton supplied, as an alternative.
 Wendover evidently saw the drift of the chief constable's remark.
“So you think he was tied up that way, Clinton, because they
wanted to talk to him; and they wanted to see his face clearly while
they talked?”
“Something of that sort might account for things. I don't press the
point. Now we come to the next item—the smell of pear-drops.”
“But that's accounted for all right, surely. I found the bag of
sweets on the dresser myself,” Wendover protested. “Peter Hay had
been eating them. There's nothing in that, Clinton.”
Sir Clinton smiled a little sardonically.
“Not so fast, squire. You found a bag of pear-drops, I admit. But
who told you that Peter Hay bought them and put them there?”
“It stands to reason that he did, surely,” Wendover protested.
“The constable told you he kept a bag of sweets in the house for
children.”
“Quite so. And there wasn't a second bag there, I'll admit. But
let's confine ourselves to the pear-drops for a moment. One can't
deny that they've got a distinctive perfume. Can you think of anything
else that smells like that?”
Inspector Armadale's face lighted up.
“That stuff they use for covering cuts—New-Skin, isn't it? That
stuff smells like pear-drops.”
The look of comprehension faded slowly as he added:
“But I don't see how New-Skin comes into the affair, sir.”
“No more do I, inspector,” Sir Clinton retorted blandly. “I should
think New-Skin had nothing whatever to do with it.”
“Then what's the point?” Armadale demanded.
“It's plain enough, if you'd keep your ears open. When I
encouraged the constable to babble at large about Peter Hay, I was
on the look-out for one thing. I found out that he didn't suffer from
asthma.”
“I don't see it yet, sir,” the inspector admitted in perplexity.
Wendover had the information which Armadale lacked.
“Now I see what you're after, Clinton. You're thinking of amyl
nitrite—the stuff asthmatics inhale when they get a bad turn? You
wanted to know if Peter Hay ever used that as a drug? And, of
course, now I come to think of it, that stuff has the pear-drop odour
also.”
“That's it, squire. Amyl nitrite for asthma; the solvent that
evaporates and leaves the collodion behind when you use New-Skin;
and the perfume of pear-drops—they're all derived from a stuff called
amyl alcohol; and they all have much the same smell. Eliminate
New-Skin, as it doesn't seem to fit into this case. That leaves you
with the possibilities that the body smelt of pear-drops or of amyl
nitrite.”
Inspector Armadale was plainly out of his depth.
“I don't see that you're much further forward, sir. After all, there
are the pear-drops. What's the good of going further? If it's poison
you're thinking of—— Is this amyl nitrite poisonous, and you think it
might have been used in the pear-drops so that their perfume would
cover its smell?”
“It's a bit subtler than that, inspector. Now I admit quite frankly
that this is all pure hypothesis; I'm merely trying it out, so to speak,
so that we can feel certain we've covered all the possibilities. But
here it is, for what it's worth. I'll put it in a nutshell for you. Amyl
nitrite, when you inhale it, produces a rush of blood to the brain.”
“And Peter Hay suffered from high blood-pressure in any case,”
Wendover broke in, “so an extra flood of blood rushing to the head
would finish him? Is that what you mean?”
“Well, it's always a possibility, isn't it?” Sir Clinton returned. “Even
a slight dose—a couple of sniffs—will give you a fair headache for
the rest of the afternoon. It's beastly stuff.”
Inspector Armadale ruminated for a moment or two.
“Then you think that when they'd done with him they dosed him
with this stuff and gave him an apoplectic stroke, sir?”
“It could be done easily enough,” Sir Clinton said cautiously. “A
teaspoonful of the stuff on a bit of cotton-wool under his nose would
do the trick, if he was liable to a stroke. But they didn't do it in the
cottage. They must have carried him out here, chair and all, and
dosed him in the open air, or else we'd have smelt the stuff strongly
in the room, even after this time. Perhaps that's what suggested
leaving him outside all night, so that the stuff would evaporate from
him as far as possible. We'll know for certain after the P. M. His lungs
ought to have a fair amount of the nitrite in them, at any rate, if that
notion's correct.”
He paused for a time, then continued:
“Now I don't say that it is correct. We don't know for certain yet.
But let's assume that it is, and see if it takes us any further. They
must have procured the amyl nitrite beforehand and brought it here
on purpose to use it. Now amyl nitrite won't kill an ordinary man.
Therefore they must have known the state of Peter Hay's health.
And they must have known, too, that he kept some sweets in the
house always. My impression is that they brought that bag of pear-
drops with them and took away Peter's own bag—which probably
hadn't pear-drops in it. You'd better make a note to look into Peter's
sweet-buying in the village lately, inspector. Find out what he bought
last.”
Sir Clinton pitched his cigarette-end over the hedge and took out
his case.
“You see what these things point to?” he inquired, as he lit his
fresh cigarette.
“It's easy enough to see, when you put it that way,” Wendover
replied. “You mean that if they knew about Peter's health and Peter's
ways to that extent, they must be local people and not strangers.”
“If one works from the premises, I think that's so,” Sir Clinton
confirmed. “But remember, the premises are only guesses so far. We
need the P. M. to confirm them. Now, there are just three more
points: the time of death; the lack of wounds on the face or
anywhere; and the matter of the silver in the drawer. As to the first
two, the amyl nitrite notion fits in quite well. The murderers, if it was
murder, made their first slip when they laid him down so carefully
and forgot to arrange the hands under the body. I suppose they
thought they were giving a suggestive turn to things by the attitude
they chose—as though Peter Hay had collapsed under a thunderbolt
attack. As to the time of the assumed murder, all we really know was
that it was after dew-fall. They may have talked for hours before they
finished the old man, for all we can tell; or they may have given him
the nitrite almost as soon as they got him tied up. We can't tell, and
it's not so very important, after all.”
He flicked some ash from his cigarette.
 “Now we come to the real thing that a jury would want to know
about: the motive. What were they after?”
He glanced at his two companions, as if inviting an opinion.
“I suggested a possible motive, sir,” the inspector reminded him.
“Yes, but from the jury point of view you'd have to do two things
to make that convincing. You'd have to prove that Peter Hay was
helping himself to stuff from Foxhills; and you'd have to establish that
the murderers got away with the bulk of it. That's almost a case in
itself. If you ask me, inspector, I think that silver represents the usual
thing—the murderer's attempt to make things too darned
convincing.”
Armadale's face betrayed some incredulity.
“Don't you see the slip?” Sir Clinton continued. “What sort of man
was Peter Hay? You heard me pumping the constable, didn't you?
And what did I get? That Peter Hay was a simple old chap who read
his Bible and practically nothing else. Now, just recall the fact that
there wasn't a fingerprint on any of those things; and silver will take a
fingerprint more clearly than most surfaces. Whoever handled these
ornaments knew all about the fingerprint danger. He wore gloves,
whoever he may be. You'll hardly persuade me—after hearing the
constable's report of Peter Hay—that he was a person likely to think
of a precaution of that sort.”
The inspector looked doubtful.
“Perhaps not, sir; but you never can tell.”
“Well, my guess is that Peter Hay never handled the stuff at all. It
was put there by his murderers; and they took good care not to leave
their visiting-cards on it. Doesn't its presence suggest something
else to you people?”
“You mean,” said Wendover, “that they may have burgled Foxhills
themselves, Clinton, and put these things into Peter Hay's drawer to
lay the scent in his direction, while they got away with the main bulk
of the stuff?”
Sir Clinton seemed disinclined to endorse this heartily.
“It's a possibility, squire. We needn't brood over it just yet,
however. When we get into Foxhills, we'll see if anything's missing
except these things.”
He glanced at his wrist-watch.
 “Time's getting on. These people might be here any minute, if the
constable didn't waste time. Let's finish up this symposium. Suppose
we eliminate robbery as a motive, then——”
He broke off abruptly in the middle of the sentence as a car came
along the avenue and drew up at the entrance to the lane which led
down to the cottage. Paul Fordingbridge was driving, and his sister
sat beside him. Followed by his two companions, Sir Clinton walked
down the lane to where the car had halted.
 Chapter V.
The Diary
“I suppose the constable explained things more or less, Mr.
Fordingbridge?” Sir Clinton asked, as he came abreast of the car.
Miss Fordingbridge did not wait for her brother's reply.
“It's really dreadful, Sir Clinton,” she broke out. “I can hardly
believe that it's true. And who could want to kill poor Peter Hay, who
hadn't an enemy in the world, is beyond me altogether. I simply can't
imagine it. And what made them do it? I can't guess. I must try at my
next séance to see if I can get any light on it. Perhaps you've found
out all about it already.”
Sir Clinton shook his head.
“We've found out next to nothing, I'm sorry to say.”
Miss Fordingbridge regarded him with marked disapproval.
“And aren't you going to arrest the man who killed him?”
“In the end, I hope,” Sir Clinton answered patiently. Then he
turned to Paul Fordingbridge. “These are the keys of Foxhills that
Peter Hay kept. I haven't a search-warrant; but we must get into the
house, if you'll let us go over it. Would you mind showing us round
the place? You see, you know all about it, and your help would be of
value to us in case there's anything wrong up there.”
At the word “search-warrant,” Paul Fordingbridge seemed to prick
up his ears; and there was a perceptible pause before he answered
the chief constable's inquiry.
“Certainly, if you wish it,” he replied smoothly. “I shall be only too
glad to give you any assistance that I can. But what makes you think
there's anything wrong at Foxhills? The constable told us that Peter
Hay was found at his own cottage.”
At a gesture from Sir Clinton, the inspector went over to the chief
constable's car and, first drawing on his rubber gloves, he brought
back one of the silver ornaments taken from Peter Hay's drawer.
“You recognise that?” Sir Clinton asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Miss Fordingbridge replied, without hesitation.
“That's one of the things we left behind when we shut up Foxhills. It's
of no great value, and so we didn't send it to the bank strong-room
with the rest of the stuff.”
“Peter Hay told someone it was valuable,” the inspector broke in.
“Oh, so it was, in a way,” Miss Fordingbridge replied. “It was a
present to me from an old friend, and so it had a sentimental value.
But in itself it's worth next to nothing, as you can see.”
Evidently Peter Hay had misunderstood something which he had
heard. Armadale, rather disgusted by the news, carried the article
back to the chief constable's car.
“We'll need to keep that and the other things in our charge for a
time,” Sir Clinton said apologetically. “They were found at Peter
Hay's cottage. Perhaps you could suggest some reason for their
removal from Foxhills?”
“There's no reason whatever that I can see,” Miss Fordingbridge
replied promptly. “Peter Hay had nothing to do with them, and he'd
no right to take them out of the house. None at all.”
“Possibly he mistook them for things of value, and thought they'd
be safer in his cottage,” Wendover suggested.
“He had no right to touch anything of mine,” Miss Fordingbridge
commented decidedly.
“Suppose we go up to the house?” Paul Fordingbridge suggested
in a colourless voice. “You'll take your own car? Good. Then I'll go
ahead.”
He pressed the self-starter and took his car up the avenue. Sir
Clinton and his companions got into their own car and followed.
“You didn't get much out of him,” Wendover commented to the
others.
Sir Clinton smiled.
“I don't think he got much chance to volunteer information,” he
pointed out.
They reached Foxhills as Paul Fordingbridge was opening the
main door of the house; and he invited them with a gesture to come
in.